


Looking to the Sky to Save Me

by dkwilliams



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom Douglas, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sub Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: In an alternate universe where everyone self-identifies as a Dom, sub, or switch, those subs in high-risk careers are required to be Collared.  All of his life, Martin Crieff has had his Collar held by a family member but his brother, Simon, has decided not to renew the license.  Martin will either have to give up flying, or turn to someone like Douglas for help.  Douglas is willing to Collar Martin, but what's in it for Douglas Richardson?
Relationships: Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Herc Shipwright, Martin Crieff/Douglas Richardson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 83
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	1. A is for Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Indybaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/gifts).



> Chapters may include some dialog from the show. Thanks to https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org for the transcripts!
> 
> Also, the order of some of the events has been altered, for the flow of this story. The trip order is Qikiqtarjuaq - Newcastle - Orlando - Paris - Rotterdam - St. Petersburg - Wokingham - Vaduz - Timbuktoo - Uskerty - Zurich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking to the sky to save me  
> Looking for a sign of life  
> Looking for something to help me burn out bright  
> I'm looking for complication  
> Looking cause I'm tired of trying  
> Make my way back home when I learn to fly
> 
> "Learn to Fly" by the Foo Fighters

“What do you mean, you can’t give me a replacement license?”

The Aviation House clerk gave Martin a look that combined sympathy and irritation. “I’m sorry, Captain Crieff, but it’s out of my hands. Regulations state - ”

“It’s not my fault that the original was lost - destroyed!” Martin said, his hands anxiously twisting his hat and damaging a bit of the braid. That had happened on their last trip, to Orlando in Florida. He’d hopped onto the East Midlands train to Gatwick as soon as they’d landed GERTI. Martin was painfully aware that his shirt had been worn two days straight (his spare shirt being in the destroyed flight bag along with his identification and license) and that he didn’t look as sharp as an airline captain should.

“Regulations state,” the clerk continued, firmly, “that all subs employed in high-risk professions such as commercial pilots MUST be Collared, for their protection and the safety of the flying public.”

Martin blinked. “But I am,” he said. “Collared.” His cheeks flushed a bit in embarrassment as he bared his right wrist to show the bracelet attached to it. “I-it’s a Family Collar. My brother - ”

“The Collar license has expired,” she explained patiently, although her irritation was clearly rising. She unclipped the bracelet from his wrist and dropped it into his hand. “Until the license is renewed, we can’t reissue your pilot’s license. I’m sorry, Captain Crieff.”

“Oh.” Martin could feel his cheeks heating up even more, his humiliation intensifying. “S-simon must have forgotten. He’s - he’s very busy.” That was always Mum’s excuse for why Simon couldn’t do any of the things that she called on Martin to do for her.

The clerk’s face softened a bit, if a glacier could ever be said to soften. (Martin thought for a moment about that nature program on icebergs calving that he’d seen when he was younger.) “That’s all right, then. Once he renews the license, the Registrar can fax it to our office - we’ll keep your papers and you won’t even have to come back in. We’ll have your license replacement out to you in a trice.” She slid a card with their fax number on it over to Martin. “Next in line!”

Martin slowly turned away from the counter, donning his hat again and tucking the card into his pocket. Outside of the building he caught the shuttle to Gatwick - and fortunately they didn’t ask him for any identification, his uniform enough proof that he was a pilot - and then the Thameslink line into London. He took a seat as far away from the other passengers as possible, pulled out his phone, and called Simon.

“Martin, old son!” Simon said heartily as he answered the phone. “I only have a minute to talk - big meeting in a mo! - and Mum says it’s been over a week since you last called her - ”

“You didn’t renew my Collar license,” Martin said bluntly, cutting Simon off.

Simon cleared his throat and Martin’s stomach tightened in response; whatever his brother’s excuse, this was not going to be good. “Well, Martin, you know how it is! We had to replace the sofa in the lounge last month - the wife hated how it clashed with the drapes. And we needed to put a deposit on the cottage at Brighton for our holiday - ”

“It’s only £250, Simon,” Martin managed to say. “I can’t fly if I don’t have that license.”

“Then maybe you should look into a more practical profession!” Simon blustered. “You know how Dad felt about it - and he was right. Or get yourself a nice Dom and settle down - ”

Martin hung up and then, for good measure, turned off his phone.

* * *

By the time Martin had arrived back in Fitton, after two hours and changing trains, he was exhausted and at the end of his tether. He’d turned his phone back on at St. Pancras, which had been a mistake as there’d been a message from his Mum chiding him for hanging up on his brother. “You know Simon’s only thinking about you, dear!” and “He works so hard - he _deserves_ a proper holiday!” had been chief among her criticisms.

So he’d turned his phone back off and sat for the last hour of his journey, turning his phone over and over in his hand, trying to think of a solution. His eyes caught on his right wrist, bare for the first time since he’d identified as a sub at fourteen. He felt naked, more naked even than if he’d taken off all his clothes. He felt as if everyone could see his nakedness, that there was nothing on either wrist or around his throat. That no one wanted him.

Arriving in Fitton, he made his way off of the platform and out to the street. He’d left his van at the field - he’d need to replace his driver’s license as well before he dared drive it. (Which meant that he was going to have to cancel the job he'd lined up to move a piano to Ottery St. Mary, and lose out on the fee.) Knowing his rotten luck, he’d get stopped for a license check the moment he pulled onto the road, so his only option was walking home as he’d already spent a fortune on the train plus his replacement license fee.

As he passed Keats Road he thought, _What would Douglas do in this situation?_ Not that Douglas would ever be in such a mess - he was clearly a Dominant. But Douglas always knew how to finagle any situation, how to finesse the rules. Surely he would be able to offer Martin some advice! It was the least he could do after heaving Martin’s flight bag at that alligator.

With a burst of hope, Martin turned and quickly made his way towards Douglas’s house.


	2. B is for Bargains

Douglas was in a right foul mood as he filled out the paperwork from their last trip. And the source of that mood was one Captain Martin Crieff.

Although, if Douglas wanted to be fair - which he rarely _did_ but odder things had been known to happen - he’d have to admit that his own behavior lately hadn’t been above reproach. He’d been beastly to Martin over that Qikiqtarjuaq business, then had made him look even more a fool on the Newcastle run. There was no logical reason for either, and certainly it had nothing to do with the way that Martin had behaved around those two female Doms, as if he craved their good opinion in a way that he’d never wanted Douglas’s and -

_Oh hell!_

It was enough to drive a man to drink, except that ten years sober was too much to throw away, even for -

The door to the portacabin opened and Carolyn entered, then paused as she saw that Douglas was seated at his desk. “Douglas? What are _you_ still doing here?”

Douglas shot her an irate look. “Martin left all the paperwork to me.”

“Quite right of him since you left his flight bag to that alligator.”

“Sorry, Carolyn, but my second career as a ‘gator wrestler’ never quite took off,” Douglas said sardonically.

Carolyn sighed. “I wasn’t going to broach this since, quite frankly, I don’t care about either of your miserable little lives - until you start affecting my business. But what the devil is the problem between you and Martin? You’ve been going swimmingly for _years_ , but ever since Qikiqtarjuaq it’s been colder than the Arctic Circle on the flight deck.”

“Would you say ‘swimmingly’ is an accurate assessment of the relations between Captain Crieff and myself?”

“You can put away your sarcasm, Douglas, I’m too tired to be impressed. Just sort things out between the two of you before I’m forced to take action. And before you ask, ponder the words ‘Ipswitch’ and ‘team building’ and decide if you _really_ want to go down that path.”

Douglas grimaced. “Point taken. Very well; I will pour oil on the troubled waters between us, figuratively speaking. If I ever finish this paperwork, that is.”

It seemed like a bloody eternity later that he was finally at home, showered and dressed in lounging clothes. He hadn’t felt in the mood to do much cooking for just himself so he heated up the previous day's take-away. It was tolerable - would have been even better for a glass of wine to accompany it - but he managed to get it down. After tidying up the kitchen he made his way into the lounge, intending to put on some music and settle down with a good book. He was vaguely aware of a restless itch under his skin, the sort of itch that had led to the Collaring of two of his former subs, but it was something he’d inured himself to since Helena had returned his collar and moved out.

A knock on the door interrupted his perusal of his record collection. Douglas opened the door and stared in surprise at his captain, who was standing on the mat and still wearing his ridiculous, ill-fitting uniform. He looked completely miserable.

“Martin? What…?”

Martin drew in a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a great ordeal. “Douglas, I need your advice. And - and I know you said a captain doesn’t ask b-but this is -- there isn’t -” He stopped and ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what to do,” he said miserably.

Douglas’s heart twitched; in his mind he was thrown back to that day when Martin had confessed that he wasn’t being paid, the look on his face when he said he never won _anything_ that had made Douglas give him hints about the Seven Dwarves. He sighed and held the door open wider, gesturing for Martin to enter.

“Sit down, Martin,” he said, pointing towards the lounge. “I’ll get you a drink - and by that I mean juice.”

“F-fine,” Martin said, dropping into a chair and burying his face in his hands.

Douglas filled two glasses and carried them back into the lounge, setting one by Martin who still had his face in his hands. “What on earth _happened_ to you? Did you get mugged in London? Your van break down again?” Martin said something unintelligible. “Say again?”

Martin sighed and lifted his head. “They wouldn’t reissue my license.”

“Whyever not? It’s not as if they expire.”

“I’m Uncollared.”

Douglas blinked. “Impossible. Carolyn might bend the rules till they beg for mercy but she’d never hire an Uncollared sub.”

Martin sighed again. “I _had_ a collar. A family collar - with my brother, Simon? And my Dad before that. Only Simon let it lapse and says he won’t renew it.”

Douglas frowned. “Surely he’s not serious. Without that you can’t fly.”

“My family has never been happy about my dream to be a pilot,” Martin said lowly. “Simon thinks I should move home - take care of our Mum until some Dom offers for me. And Mum agrees with everything Simon says.”

“And you’ve never met anyone you wanted to be Collared by?”

“More like no one’s ever been interested in me, never mind Collaring,” Martin muttered. “I mean, look at me, Douglas! I’m a man-with-a-van who dabbles as an aircraft captain! I live in shared housing because I can’t afford better! I’ve never subbed seriously for anyone, only dabbled a bit in school. Who would want _me_?”

“I’d Collar you,” Douglas said impulsively.

Martin’s head jerked up. “You?”

“Well, why not?” Douglas said, his thoughts catching up quickly with his words. “MJN needs you as a pilot, at least until we go broke. You need a Collar to be licensed, and it’s not like I’ve got anyone on my leash anymore.”

The expression on Martin’s face darkened. “And what’s in it for Douglas Richardson?”

The words didn’t penetrate Douglas’s head at first, caught up with connecting all the dots in another Richardson scheme. The Collar would be a pretense, just to put off the officials so that Martin could keep flying. MJN wasn’t much of an airline but it was clear to Douglas that it was his only option at the moment. ‘Herc’ Shipwright had made that all too clear. Douglas needed MJN and MJN needed Martin.

Martin sprang out of his chair so fast that Douglas almost thought he’d levitated. “You’d like me on your leash, wouldn’t you? M-me under your thumb at last, b-bound to obey your every little edict! Captain Douglas Richardson again at last!”

Douglas stared at the other man, open-mouthed. “Martin - ”

“I bet you can’t wait to put me on my knees like this,” Martin continued, his voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch. He dropped to his knees in front of Douglas, pushing his knees apart and slotting himself between them.

“Martin, you don’t - ”

“You think that I’m _completely_ without experience, don’t you?” Martin asked, a defiant look on his face. “I’ve done this _lots_ before. A couple of times, anyways. Enough to make it good for you. Want me to show you?” Martin reached for Douglas’s fly.

Douglas caught his hands. “Enough, Martin,” he said with enough dominance to shut the sub up completely.

Martin wilted in front of him, curling forward until his head rested on Douglas’s knee, his thin shoulders shaking under the weight of his emotional overload. Douglas carefully put a hand on Martin’s head, stroking his hair and waiting for the first wave to pass.

“It’s all right, Martin. It’s been a hell of a day for you; you’re all done in. Come upstairs - you can sleep in my guest room and we’ll sort everything out in the morning.”

Martin nodded silently and shuffled backwards on his knees so that Douglas could get up from the couch. Douglas pulled the other man to his feet and towed him upstairs, depositing him in the guest room with instructions to strip down to his vest and boxers for sleep. He went back downstairs to lock up and fetch the glass of juice for Martin, figuring that he could use the sugar input. When he got back upstairs he found that Martin was in bed, covers pulled up to his chin and fast asleep. Douglas set the glass down on the night table, then picked up the discarded clothes and set them on the chair.

He stood for a moment by the bed, staring down at the sleeping sub. Martin looked even younger and more vulnerable in sleep, and it tugged at the Dom side of him that longed to take care of someone. Tenderly, he pushed the unruly ginger curls off Martin’s forehead, resisting the urge to kiss the fair skin.

“Oh Martin,” he sighed. “You do like to make things difficult, don’t you?”

Douglas turned off the light and closed the door behind him, leaving the young sub to sleep.


	3. C is for Collar

Martin woke slowly from a pleasant dream of gentle hands and soft words. His bed was unusually comfortable and warm, and it was only the increasing urgency of his bladder that forced him to push back the covers and sit up. And then he blinked several times in confusion for the room he occupied was not his own. Memory slowly seeped back in and his face turned scarlet in embarrassment; how could he ever face Douglas again after what he’d said and done the previous night? He was tempted to dive under the covers again and never come out but nature was more urgent than his embarrassment. He made his way to the guest bathroom and relieved himself, then splashed cold water over his face to further wake himself up. There was a washcloth on the vanity as well as a packaged toothbrush so he took advantage of both. Back in the guest room he eyed his wrinkled shirt with disfavor and just pulled on his trousers.

As he opened the guest room door again, he was aware of the scent of coffee and bacon in the air and he was suddenly ravenous. He hadn’t eaten anything since GERTI had landed and very little before then and, though his stomach was accustomed to going without regular meals, it was growling loudly now that food was apparently on offer.

Martin made his way down the stairs and hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, uncertain of his welcome. Douglas must have heard him, though, as he looked over at the doorway and smiled in welcome. The smile did something funny to Martin’s insides - probably just hungry, he told himself.

“Just in time, Martin!” Douglas called out. “There’s coffee in the pot - fix it how you like it. Eggs and bacon will be ready in just a tick, and there’s juice and fruit on the table.”

Martin poured a cup of coffee and nearly inhaled it - black, as he’d grown accustomed to although he really preferred milk when it was available. He poured another cup and carried it to the table where Douglas was dishing out omelets that looked like a French chef had created them, along with a generous portion of bacon. Martin quickly glanced over at Douglas’s plate to make sure that he hadn’t shorted himself and, seeing that the other man had a nearly identical plate, he had no compunction about tucking into his breakfast. Douglas nudged a rack of toast closer to him and Martin paused long enough to take one and spread marmalade on it before continuing to eat. Slices of strawberries and orange wedges mysteriously appeared on his plate while he was eating and he devoured the rare treats - fresh fruit was too dear although occasionally he found dinged tins in the sale bins.

Finally replete and plate empty, he picked up his coffee mug to find that it had been topped off while he ate. He looked up to see that Douglas was watching him over the rim of his own coffee mug, his eyes holding the familiar calculating look that meant that Douglas was thinking up a scheme. Martin flushed, inwardly cursing his fair complexion, and stammered his thanks for the meal.

“It was no trouble,” Douglas said, waving off his thanks. “Truth to tell, I find cooking for myself tedious. It’s a pleasure to have someone else around to share the meal.” Douglas paused, setting down his coffee cup. "Martin, have you given any thought to what I proposed yesterday evening?”

Martin’s hand shook and he set down his cup quickly so that he wouldn’t slosh the contents over the table and his trousers. “I - um - wh-what was that?”

“I offered to Collar you, Martin.”

Martin looked up fleetingly, meeting Douglas’s eyes, then dropped his gaze back down to the table. There was a spot of splashed coffee on the table top and he idly circled his finger through it. “You - you haven’t changed your mind? After what I - um - said.”

“On the contrary,” Douglas said, his voice light and carefree as if he was unaware of what he was doing to Martin. “I’m looking forward to having a sub again. It’s been many months since Helena left and, as I said, I enjoy taking care of someone.”

“How - how would this work?” Martin asked, still not looking up from the coffee spot which was now looking a lot like GERTI.

“Oh, the usual way, I suppose. We’ll go into town after breakfast to buy an appropriate collar and register your status so you can get your license. Carolyn will need to be updated as well. As far as logistics, we’ll set up play dates for our free days, at least once a week and maybe more, depending on how everything works out. There’s a calendar on the wall next to the fridge - put your scheduled flights and van jobs on it. I already have my own flights and parental visitations marked on it.”

Martin’s head jerked up. “You’ll let me keep my van business and work at MJN?”

“Of course - isn’t that the point of all this? Besides, I’m already supporting 2 ex-subs and a minor child; I’m hardly going to support you as well.” Douglas reached over and laid his hand on Martin’s, stopping his doodling. “Martin, if you hate the idea then just say so. I’m hardly the sort of person to force an unwilling sub. We’ll think of something else to allow you to keep your license.”

“No,” Martin said, looking up briefly. “I - I would like that. Being your Collared sub.” 

He realized that he meant it, that the feeling inside was both relief that he would still be able to fly and a sort of anticipation about what it would be like to sub for Douglas.

“Good,” Douglas said, patting his hand before withdrawing it, and he sounded as if he really meant it.

“What about at work?” Martin asked. “Will you - will you want the Captain’s chair?”

Douglas tilted his head for a moment as if considering. “While I would relish regaining the title, I doubt that I could carry off the gold braid as _Sir_ does. Besides, I’ve grown accustomed to the First Officer’s seat.” He paused. “Martin, I’m not the sort of Dom who needs to have his subs on the end of a leash in public. While we’re at work, you are the Captain and I will continue to treat you as I always have. When we’re in public together and _not_ at work, I will expect to be treated with respect due your Dom. I, in turn, will accord you the same degree of dignity that _any_ person should receive, regardless of status. I won’t put you on a leash or expect you to go to your knees beside me in restaurants, and I will _never_ correct your behavior in public. When we are here in my home...well, we’ll sort out rules and such later. Is that agreeable?”

Martin nodded.

“Words, Martin. I require clearly expressed consent.”

Martin cleared his throat. “Yes. It’s agreeable. Acceptable. All of that.”

“Good. In that case,” Douglas said, rising and beginning to collect the dishes, “we’d best get started. Normally I will expect you to clean up after a meal I’ve cooked but today I’ll make an exception. You’ll need to shower and change before we leave; we’ll drop off our uniforms at the dry cleaners while we’re out. I’ve set a change of clothes in the bathroom - trousers and shirt from my younger and leaner days. You’ll need to roll the cuffs but that can’t be helped - in future you will need to leave a change of clothes here. Go on now.”

Martin hurried upstairs and found the pile of clothes as well as a towel sitting on the shelf beside the shower. He quickly showered and washed his hair, and for once he was thankful that his facial hair was sparse and slow to grow since he didn’t have a razor. He wondered if Douglas would want him to shave off all the rest of his body hair - some Doms liked that - and a shiver went through him. He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, thoroughly drying off before turning to the clothes. There wasn’t any underwear, of course - he debated briefly about donning his used pair before deciding to go without. The trousers had to be rolled up, as Douglas had said, and secured with his belt to keep them from sliding down his hips, but the shirt was only a little big on him. It must have been very small on Douglas, even in his younger and fitter years, almost obscenely tight - and Martin had to hastily turn his mind away from the image that conjured in his imagination. There was a pair of socks as well and he put them on, then his shoes, before gathering his uniform pieces and heading back downstairs.

Douglas was putting on his own shoes and gathering his keys and wallet when Martin returned to the kitchen, and before too long they were walking into one of Fitton’s nicer jewelry shops. Martin was painfully aware of the contrast between his appearance and Douglas’s, something that the raised eyebrow of the salesman emphasized. Douglas didn’t seem to notice, though, leading the way to the cases containing collars and related items.

“Martin, do you see anything that appeals to you?” he asked, perusing the variety of collars and cuffs on display.

All Martin could see was the price tags, surely more than Douglas was willing to spend on him. He pointed to the least expensive item, a plain leather cuff but Douglas immediately shook his head.

“That’s much too stiff and unforgiving, and it will chafe your wrist terribly. Besides, there’s not a matching collar.”

Douglas pointed to a tray of matching metal collars and cuffs and the salesman lifted it onto the counter. Douglas picked up a few of them, testing the weight and flexibility of the links before narrowing it down to two of them.

“Hold out your arm, Martin,” he instructed and then lay both of the cuffs over his wrist, assessing them against Martin’s skin. He picked up the matching collar to one of them and checked the comfort of it around Martin’s neck, then did the same with the other collar. “These ones,” he said at last to the salesman. “The cuff for his right wrist and the collar. Can you size them while we wait?” The salesman nodded and quickly took the measurements of Martin’s wrist and neck, then disappeared into the back with both pieces.

“Douglas, they’re much too expensive!” Martin protested once they were alone.

“You let _me_ worry about that,” Douglas said. “You’ll be wearing them all the time so fit and comfort is more important than economy. Besides, we both know how much _Sir_ likes gold.”

Martin flushed and bit his lip at that but was spared from having to reply by the salesman returning with the altered items. Douglas paid for them and then fastened them in place, nodding his head in satisfaction at the result.

Their next stop was City Hall, at the Registrar’s office where they had a short wait to fill out the paperwork registering Douglas as Martin’s Dom. The Clerk agreed to fax a copy of the registration immediately to the Aviation headquarters.

They dropped off their uniforms at the dry-cleaners that Douglas favored (instead of the cheap one that Martin used) and Martin filed for a replacement copy of his driver’s license, then Douglas proposed lunch.

“To celebrate,” he added. “Your first real collar is a momentous occasion.”

Martin felt his stomach turn over and he knew that he couldn’t face Douglas across a dining table right now, not when he knew the other man would be able to read every emotion on display. And, to be honest, he wasn’t really sure how he felt.

“I have some calls I should make,” he stammered. “Van jobs - have to reschedule.”

Douglas looked disappointed. “All right, then. I’ll drop you at your place. Don’t forget - tomorrow is Birling day! I’ll pick you up on the way since Carolyn is too cheap to spring for a car service.”

Martin paled. He’d forgotten about Mr. Birling. While the potential of earning a sizeable tip from the man was a plus, it would be the first flight after his new arrangement with Douglas and there was no way that the sharp old gentleman wouldn’t catch that. And, no doubt, make fun of Martin.

“Right,” he said faintly and then, after taking a deep breath, said, “You’re not going to steal the whiskey this time, are you?”

“Too right I am,” Douglas said, a smug smirk on his lips.

“Douglas….”

“Don’t worry, Martin. My triumph won’t have any effect at all on our personal arrangement unless,” and he turned to fix a sharp look on Martin, “unless _you_ make it personal. Are we clear on that?”

“Crystal,” Martin said miserably.

“Good.” He pulled up in front of Martin’s shared housing. “Don’t forget to pack a bag for overnight.”

Martin paused in getting out of the car and frowned. “Why? Paris is a short flight - we’re not staying overnight.”

“But _you_ are,” Douglas said. “At my house, when we return. So we can talk about rules and such.”

It was the “and such” that echoed in Martin’s ears as he closed the car door and went into the house, then up to his attic rooms. The house was empty and quiet, and for once Martin was glad of that because he had enough noise going on in his head.

In the bathroom, he stood in front of his mirror, staring at the new collar around his neck for a long, long time, then undressed and crawled into bed. It was only late afternoon but tomorrow was going to be a rough day and he’d need all the rest he could get.


	4. D is for Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialog is from the show, courtesy of the transcripts here - https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/37526.html#cutid1
> 
> Events may be modified a little to fit this AU better.

Martin was waiting outside the house when Douglas arrived to pick him up the next morning. Douglas had already stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up their cleaned uniforms, and when they arrived at the portacabin he sent Martin off to the bathroom to change while he sorted out the new paperwork with Carolyn. He knocked on Carolyn’s office door then opened it.

“Good morning, Carolyn.”

Carolyn looked up. “Ah, Douglas. Nice and early for Birling Day, I see.”

“Likewise. Did you have an interesting day off yesterday? Another date with _Herc_?”

Carolyn drew herself up and said frostily, “They are _not_ dates but never you mind about Herc Shipwright! I know you’re trying to distract me but you’re _not_ going to steal the whiskey this time.”

Douglas smirked. “I _am_ , but that’s not why I’m in here at the moment.” He took out the copy of Martin’s Collar papers. “This is for your files.”

Carolyn took the sheet and glanced at it, then gave Douglas a sharp look. “What in all the seven hells are you up to? Martin’s brother has held his Familial Collar for _years_.”

“Not anymore. He rescinded it and Martin couldn’t get his license replacement without that.”

“So in charges Douglas Richardson to the rescue,” Carolyn said drily. “What’s in it for _you_?”

Douglas gave her a mock-hurt look. “What’s in it for _me_? Carolyn, you wound me to the heart.” She snorted and he shrugged. “Martin’s a tolerable looker, and what could be better than having our beloved Captain leashed to _me_?”

“Don’t try to pull the wool over _my_ eyes. I know very well why you’d jump at this chance. You’ve driven off anyone who’s even cast a half-glance in Martin’s direction lately. Not that I blame you - none of them were worth spit. But while Martin is a neurotic pillock, he’s _ours_. And if you hurt him, you’ll be the next thing to fall off of GERTI.”

“Understood. And speaking of our Fair Haired Lad, I have a proposition in mind.”

Carolyn sighed. “I’ll probably regret listening to one of your crazy schemes but what the hell. It’s that sort of day.”

* * *

Mr. Birling entered the office, as full of bluster and noise as ever. “My dear boys, there you are! Ready once more to help me slip the surly bonds of Earth, put out my hand and punch the face of God?”

“I think that’s _touch_ the face of God,” Douglas averred.

Birling made a face. “No, no, I don’t like the sound of that at all. Icky.”

“Well I don’t suppose God would be overjoyed at the prospect, either,” Carolyn said dryly.

Birling turned to look at her. “Oh, are you still here? I didn’t see you last time. I thought perhaps you’d died.” He turned and looked at Douglas. “And what about you, Douglas? Still on your own, you pathetic loser? For the best, my dear boy, really - just take my awful wife.”

At that moment, an irritated middle-aged woman came into the office. “Birling! You can’t just park with my door jammed against a wall and leave me there!”

“Can. Did,” Birling said. “Elizabeth, this is one of the joke pilots I was telling you about.” He turned as Martin and Arthur came in, Arthur’s face lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hallo, Mr. B!” Arthur said cheerfully.

“And now the gang’s all here,” Birling said. “Captain, First Mate, Cabin Boy,” he said, pointing at Douglas, Martin, and Arthur in turn.

“Um,” Martin said with an awkward little laugh. “Actually, I’m the captain.”

“He always says that, I don’t know why,” Birling said to his wife. “Pilots, this is Elizabeth, my awful wife and sub. She’s come to see me off.”

“Oh, hello,” Martin said to Mrs. Birling. “I’m - I’m sure you’re not awful.”

“Well, tell you what, my dear boy,” Birling said. “You be her Dom for thirty years and then we’ll compare notes.”

“I - um, actually I’m a sub - ”Martin began.

“And in point of fact,” Douglas interrupted. “Martin is now _my_ sub.”

“Skip!” Arthur said, flinging his arms around Martin in an exuberant hug. “Congratulations! We should have a party, right, Mum?”

“Which would be lovely, dear,” Carolyn replied. “But right now you have to go to Paris.”

“Speaking of which,” Mrs. Birling said, “here’s fifty pounds each.”

“Oh, thank you!” Douglas said, accepting the bill. “I must say, the early evidence is weighing heavily in favor of your _not_ being awful.”

“Those are your tips,” Mrs. Birling said firmly. “You’re having them now, and that’s all you’re getting. Mr. Birling and I have talked about those extravagant tips he used to give and we’ve mutually decided they should stop, haven’t we, Birling?”

“No,” he said sulkily.

“Do you want to see your stupid rugby in stupid Paris?”

“Rugby isn’t stupid. Paris, I grant you, is moronic.”

“What have we decided then?”

Birling growled. "No tips.”

“That’s right.” She bid him farewell and went off, clutching her purse tightly as if worried that they might begin the rugby early by tackling her for more tips.

Once Mrs. Birling was gone, Carolyn made a show of putting the whiskey bottle into Martin’s hands while Arthur got Mr. Birling settled on the plane. Martin waited until Birling was settled and Douglas was safely in the flight deck, then handled the bottle over to Arthur.

“Remember, Arthur. What isn’t Douglas allowed to do?”

“Douglas isn’t allowed to go near the whiskey,” Arthur said immediately, then paused. “Skip. What if Douglas were to order you to let him have the whiskey? Wouldn’t you have to give it to him, since he’s your Dom now?”

Martin shook his head. “We’ve agreed that while we’re working, I don’t have to be submissive to him. Except, you know, for legal matters such as my collar. And - and I suppose health emergencies, although we really haven’t discussed that yet…” Martin broke off and cleared his throat. “No, Arthur. Douglas isn’t going to order me to give him the whiskey and even if he did, I don’t have to obey.”

“I wish it worked like that with Mum,” Arthur said wistfully. “She’s always telling me that I don’t have to obey her at work and then she turns around and gives me orders anyways.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re both switches?” Martin said doubtfully.

“Maybe. Dunno. It makes me more confused than usual, though,” Arthur said.

Mr. Birling shouted for something and Martin made his way onto the flight deck so they could start the pre-flight checks. As he took his seat, he looked over at Douglas a little nervously.

“D-douglas? About the - the whiskey business? It won’t affect us, will it?”

“Of course not,” Douglas reassured him. “When I win, I will be very magnanimous in the face of your defeat.”

“But - but what if _I_ win?”

Douglas gave him a pitying look. “Oh, Martin.”

“No, but seriously! What if I m-manage to keep you from stealing the whiskey?”

Douglas paused. “All right, Martin. In the _unlikely_ event that you win, I promise that there will be no retribution of any sort. Does that make you feel better?”

“Yes, it does. Thanks, Douglas.”

“You’re welcome. But Martin - I _will_ win.”

* * *

Hours later, they returned to Fitton airfield with Mr. Birling happy but somewhat the worse for both whiskey and rugby. As Douglas began landing procedures, Martin sighed and said, “You were right and I owe Carolyn a hundred pounds.” He patted the pocket where the pearl cufflink resided and said, “I suppose that after I sell this I’ll have enough to pay her, and still have enough to cover expenses for a bit.”

“Why on earth would you think that you owe Carolyn anything?” Douglas asked.

Martin blinked. “Because I lost the wager. You stole the whiskey - ”

“Did I, though? Did I ever actually take possession of the bottle of whiskey?”

“But - Mr. Birling paid us so that he could get the whiskey back!”

“Because I made him unwilling to drink it due to my doctoring of the glasses. I never actually took the whiskey. Therefore, by the terms of your wager with Carolyn, there is no forfeit on your part.”

Martin shook his head. “Douglas, that’s just a technicality - ”

“Martin, do I have the whiskey?”

“No, but - ”

“Does Mr. Birling have the whiskey?”

“Yes, although at this point it’s mostly _inside_ him.”

Douglas made a “ta-da!” motion with his hands, having first brought GERTI to a stop. “And there you have it.”

Martin frowned in thought for a long moment as he began the post-landing checklist. As he unbuckled his seat belt he said, “And you’re not going to tell Carolyn about that bit in the middle where we sort of thought the whiskey was missing?”

“I expect that _Arthur_ will tell her all about it, at great length, but since Arthur rarely makes _any_ sense, I don’t know what she’ll make of it.” Douglas collected his flight bag from the locker. “Coming, _Sir_?”

Martin followed him off the plane and watched as Carolyn finished tucking Mr. Birling into a taxi. As it pulled away she turned to her pilots and said, “Well, gentlemen - and I use that term loosely - I take it from Mr. Birling’s state of inebriation that no whiskey was stolen on this flight?”

“Mum, Skip was brilliant! Just like Miss Marple - only Douglas was a bit like Miss Marple, too, or maybe a magician because it was gone and then back but it wasn’t really gone at all!” Arthur said eagerly.

“Arthur, dear, do shut up and go do your hoovering,” Carolyn said.

“I’d best get started on the logs,” Martin said, quickly slipping away to the portacabin before Carolyn could grill him on the matter.

Douglas and Carolyn watched the two younger men disappear in two different directions, then Carolyn turned to him. “Well, Raffles? I take it that your plan was a success?”

“Better than I could have anticipated. Mr. Birling did indeed have a little inducement to throw into the pot. Martin is none the wiser but considerably flusher in pocket, for the moment.”

“And I owe him a hundred quid,” she said with a sigh. “It’s not much but I really can’t do any more for him at present.” She gave Douglas a sharp look. “I have absolutely no interest in my employees’ tedious personal lives but _someone_ needs to look after that boy properly. It might as well be you.”

Douglas saluted her smartly. “And I will do my best, O Alpha Dog.”


	5. E is for Eating

They drove from the airfield straight to Douglas's house, and as they entered Douglas said, “Take your bag upstairs, shower thoroughly, then come downstairs. I’m cooking dinner tonight.”

“Yes, Douglas,” Martin began, then flushed red. “Should I - should I leave off my clothes?”

“Not unless you _like_ to eat dinner naked. Personally, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Martin hurried upstairs, stripping off his clothes in the bathroom before getting into the shower. Douglas’s words to wash thoroughly sounded as if he had something specific in mind and that gave him a nervous thrill. Would Douglas take him to bed, and if he did, would he penetrate him? Martin had never had full-on sex with anyone before, just hand-jobs and blowjobs when he was younger. Was that about to change?

Martin scrubbed his skin and hair twice, paying special attention to his more private parts. He dried off thoroughly, then dressed in the sweat pants and shirt that he’d put in his bag at the last minute. He cleared the fog off the bathroom mirror, looked at himself in it, and his stomach sank. The man in the mirror was nothing to appeal to anyone, much less Douglas Richardson who could pull any sub he wanted. Martin had forced him into this, had cornered Douglas, and he would realize what a mistake he’d made before the night was over. He’d rescind his collar, and Martin would lose his pilot license and his job. He’d have to move back home, and both Mom and Simon would say “I told you so” while Caitlin looked on with pitying smugness.

“Martin! Dinner!”

Martin sighed; there was no way out but through, no matter the cost. He dumped his dirty clothes in the guest room and slowly made his way downstairs.

Douglas was setting the table as Martin entered the kitchen. He gave Martin a quick once-over followed by a more intent gaze, then returned one of the place settings to the cabinet. He disappeared into the lounge, returning with a large floor pillow that he tossed down beside the table.

“Martin, sit down on the pillow.”

Martin gaped at him. “On the floor?”

“On the pillow on the floor,” Douglas corrected. Martin frowned and Douglas said, “Or, if you prefer, you could go over my knees for a spanking and _then_ sit on the pillow. And I can guarantee it won’t be a fun and sexy spanking.”

Martin hurriedly took his place on the pillow, awkwardly trying to assume what he hoped was an attractive position.

“Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be down there for a while.”

Martin frowned at that, watching as Douglas filled his plate with food. It looked and smelled delicious. His stomach growled loudly and Martin flushed in embarrassment. Their lunch had been a further attempt by Carolyn to economize and had been an appallingly bland frozen-and-reheated shepherd’s pie. And Martin had skipped breakfast - or, rather, had nothing to hand. Carolyn’s hundred pounds, carefully tucked into his worn wallet, would fix that. And the pearl cuff-link would cover his rent for a few months. But right now he was very, very hungry and it looked like Douglas was going to eat right in front of him. Maybe he would be allowed the leftovers - if there were any - once Douglas was done?

Douglas sat down and for the next minute there was the sound of cutlery against plate. Martin tried to think of other things than his empty stomach.

“Open up, Martin.”

Martin looked up, startled, to see that Douglas was holding a fork full of food in front of him. Up close he could see that it was a bit of chicken and some sort of vegetable and it smelled even more amazing at this distance.

“What?”

“Open your mouth,” Douglas repeated.

“You’re never going to feed me!” Martin protested, even as his stomach told him to shut up and open his mouth.

“I _am_ ,” Douglas said in return. “And _you_ are going to eat every bite that I feed you.”

“I am not a child!”

“You’re my sub and I am going to feed you,” Douglas said firmly. “Whether or not you have a smacked bottom first is entirely up to you.”

Martin opened his mouth.

And closed it around the most delicious bite of food that he’d ever tasted. Douglas’s previous effort with the fish was nothing compared to this. Martin chewed it slowly, enjoying the burst of flavors, then realized that he’d both closed his eyes to better experience the food and made a nearly obscene sound of pleasure. He turned bright red.

Douglas seemed pleased by his reaction to the food and another morsel was immediately offered. Martin quickly devoured it, then the next two bites, the second being a spicy potato thing that made his eyes water a bit. Douglas quickly handed him a glass of water - Martin was grateful that he didn’t try to hold it while Martin drank.

“Was that last too spicy for you?” Douglas asked in concern.

Martin shook his head. “Just unexpected.”

He watched as Douglas ate a few bites of his meal, sipping at the water as he did. “Douglas? Oh - should I call you something else? M-master or sir or something?”

Douglas took back the glass and proffered another bite. “I never cared for the term ‘master’, and I believe that we’ve agreed that you are _Sir_ so that would just create confusion. ‘Douglas’ will do.”

“Right. Douglas, can I ask you a question?”

“You probably _can_. Your mouth does move and form sounds.”

Martin narrowly prevented himself from rolling his eyes. “ _May_ I ask you a question?”

“You may. Whether I answer is my prerogative.”

“Why are you feeding me? I thought you’d want to do…other things. For your pleasure.”

“This _is_ pleasurable for me, Martin,” Douglas replied, producing another bite for Martin. “I think you’ll find that most responsible Doms - at least the ones not caught up in a power trip - enjoy taking care of their subs. I love to cook but it’s dull when it’s just for myself. I spent yesterday afternoon deciding what to make and shopping for the perfect ingredients. I listened to opera while I prepared this meal last night. And now I get to watch someone eat who enjoys my cooking.”

“But it’s not…you know…sex.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes a really good meal can be damn near as good as sex,” Douglas said thoughtfully. “Martin, we _will_ have sex and it will be _glorious_ because you’re lucky enough to have _me_ as your partner. It will happen at the right time. Now, though, you’ve gotten yourself all twisted up in mental knots and self-doubts. Or can you honestly tell me that you weren’t staring at yourself in the mirror upstairs and thinking all sorts of ugly thoughts?”

Martin blushed and dropped his gaze to his fingers, twisting them together in his lap.

“I thought as much. So tonight the plan is dinner, a bath, and then sleep. Nothing else.”

Martin didn’t know whether to be relieved or not by this information. So instead he concentrated on the meal he was being fed which included a decadent chocolate torte for pudding, by the end of which he was ready to agree with Douglas that good food could be as pleasurable as sex (well, at least what little he’d experienced).

“An excellent meal, even if I do say so myself,” Douglas said as soon as the last bit of chocolate torte had been devoured. “Clean up the kitchen, then come upstairs when you’re done.”

Martin made quick work of clearing the table, rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. Then he wiped down the counter and the table, started the dishwasher, and dithered for a few minutes before going upstairs.

Douglas was in the master bathroom, filling the tub with water - and bubbles. As Martin entered the room, he finished adjusting the taps and stood up, dropping his robe and getting into the tub. Martin tried not to overtly ogle Douglas although it was the first time he’d had a chance to see the other man naked and he was curious. He didn’t want to get caught at it, though, and jumped when Douglas called his name.

“Strip and get in the tub,” Douglas said. As Martin slowly began removing his clothes, Douglas added, “A little faster, please. I don’t need a show and I’d like us to bathe before the water gets cold.”

Martin hastily complied and stepped into the very front of the tub, settling down gingerly. Douglas leaned forward, wrapped an arm around Martin’s waist and pulled him back to rest against his chest, slopping a little water out of the tub. Martin barely dared to breathe, intensely aware of the body at his back and the lax genitals pressed against him. Douglas picked up his right hand and began washing it.

“Your hands are a mess,” Douglas said. He grabbed a bottle of some kind of lotion and poured a bit on the back of Martin’s hand, then began massaging it in. “Don’t you wear gloves when you’re moving goods?”

“I - I used to,” Martin stammered. “I lost them.”

“That doesn’t sound like the cautious Martin I know.”

“A client’s dog chewed them up,” Martin admitted. “She wouldn’t pay to replace them, and I couldn’t afford a new pair.” He could now, he thought, thinking again of the pearl cufflink and Carolyn’s hundred pounds.

“I’ll get you a good pair tomorrow,” Douglas said, moving to his left hand. Martin started to protest and Douglas shushed him. “It’s in my own self interest. How can I expect to enjoy you touching me with hands that feel like steel wool. We'll go into town after breakfast to drop off our uniforms, then go to a jewelers. We'll get a better price if we sell the cufflinks as a pair and split the money.”

Finished with the hands, Douglas applied soap to a bath sponge, and then the sponge and his hands began moving over Martin’s chest. Douglas washed him from his neck to his navel, from one armpit to the other, then had him lean forward so that he could get to Martin’s back. Once he’d rinsed off the soap, Martin released the breathe he’d been holding and got ready to get up. He’d been half-hard since Douglas had started touching him and he was hoping to keep him from noticing. But a hand on Martin’s shoulder kept him in place while Douglas’s right hand moved down Martin’s chest to his cock.

“It’s all right, Martin,” Douglas’s silken voice said in his ear. “I just want to make you feel good right now.”

Martin let out a shuddering breath and collapsed back against Douglas’s chest as he gave himself up to Douglas’s touch. Douglas’s hand was very skilled (and his skin was very soft, Martin noticed, not coarse and rough) and Martin immediately hardened.

“You’re so responsive to my touch,” Douglas murmured. “It’s very flattering.”

As if that was his cue, Martin’s climax hit him. Douglas coaxed him through it and then, when it was clear that he was done and starting to succumb to sleep, Douglas chivied him out of the tub. He dried Martin thoroughly, then guided him into the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and sat Martin down.

“Go to sleep,” Douglas said, his voice filled with fond amusement.

Martin curled up on his side and was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow.


	6. F is for Feelings

Douglas tucked the covers around Martin and stood beside the bed for a few minutes, just watching him sleep. The young sub was lovely like this, with all that restlessness and self-doubt melted away into dreams. Douglas smoothed the covers and then, afraid he would wake Martin up if he kept hovering about, he set about tidying the bathroom. Once that was done, he went downstairs and poured himself a glass of water and went into the lounge. He flicked on the television but, finding nothing of interest on any channel, he turned it back off again. He could put on some music and find a book to read, but neither appealed at the moment. And God, did he want a drink!

 _Some Dom you are_ , he thought to himself. There was a pretty sub upstairs in his bed, and here he was, sitting in his darkened lounge, alone. He should be sleeping, tucked up against Martin, but he was feeling restless and knew that his shifting about the bed would wake Martin up. He _should_ wake Martin up. He should wake him and have his way with his mouth or his bottom - but Martin was clearly exhausted. He’d probably been working every spare hour at his paying job, and he clearly hadn’t been eating well as he was much too thin. Douglas could have counted ribs as he washed Martin’s chest. More home-cooked meals would help that, and he’d start bringing in leftovers for their longer flights - Martin couldn’t thrive on the cheese tray or what Carolyn deigned to serve her pilots. There wasn’t much he could do about Martin’s man-with-a-van situation as it was the only money Martin brought in. MJN was barely holding its head above water and Carolyn could no more afford to pay Martin now than when he’d started.

He was getting soft, that’s what the problem was. But Douglas had always loved taking care of a sub. Lots of Doms got off on power dynamics and taking a sub to their limits - and that could be fun - but Douglas always liked seeing a sub melt with pleasure. He needed to be needed; he could admit that to himself if not to anyone else. And if there was ever a definition of a needy sub, then it was Martin Crieff.

Douglas sighed and finished his glass of water, returning the glass to the kitchen. He went upstairs and tidied up the guest bath, putting Martin’s uniform aside to go to the cleaners with his and throwing the dirty clothes into the laundry hamper for washing in the morning. He quietly made his way through the master bedroom to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change into a pair of silk pajamas. Then, after turning off the light, he went into the bedroom and slipped under the covers.

Martin stirred at the movement, rolling over in the bed and into his arms. He woke, looking sleep-dazed and startled to find himself sharing a bed, and then he gave Douglas a sleepy smile.

“Douglas,” he breathed, a tone of wonder in his voice, as if he fancied himself still asleep and dreaming.

Something tender caught in Douglas’s throat and, to cover it, he arched his eyebrow. “ You were expecting someone else in my bed?”

Martin ignored that, as well he should, and slid down the bed, pulling the covers and Douglas’s pajama pants with him. Before Douglas could let out more than a startled “what - ?”, Martin had taken his cock into his mouth and began sucking him off with dreamy enthusiasm.

Douglas had had his cock sucked more times than he could count, should he ever want to tote up the score. He’d been sucked off by beautiful subs, been fellated by experts, and he’d enjoyed it every time. But there was something different about this, here in the dark with Martin kneeling between his thighs. His head was bent over his task and Douglas reached out to push away the unruly curls so he could see more of Martin’s face. His hand was shaking; he didn’t know why. Martin’s hand and mouth moved in concert, and if it wasn’t the best blow-job he’d ever received, or even the most enthusiastic, there was still something perfectly beautiful about it and Douglas never wanted to end.

On the heels of that thought, he could feel his climax suddenly take hold of him and he tightened his hand in Martin’s hair, holding him in place. Not that Martin seemed inclined to move. His hand continued to move and he swallowed almost greedily, and then, when there was nothing left, he licked the area clean as if greedy for more. Once he’d finished, Martin slid Douglas’s pants back up into place and crawled back up the bed to kneel beside Douglas.

“Come here,” Douglas said, holding out an arm, and Martin immediately curled up against him. He seemed to fall back asleep nearly instantly, but Douglas lay awake for a long while afterwards, idly ruffling the rusty curls and thinking about what the hell he was going to do with this sub.


	7. R is for Ravishment

Martin sat in the portocabin long after the others had left, ostensibly doing the paperwork for the Rotterdam trip but in truth he was lost in thought. Was he really that unhappy with his life that he had envied Martin Davenport so much?

The Other Martin, with his height and his good looks and his “pilot” name. A switch with a wife and family. All of it things that Martin said he would have given a year of his life for, and yet _that_ Martin was in the same position that he was - knowing exactly what he was put on earth to do and yet unable to get anyone to believe in him. At least they had that in common, and maybe they could become friends. Martin would like that, to have a friend. Right now, all he had was Arthur - and maybe Douglas but he was his Dom, not his friend. 

Or was he both? Sometimes Douglas acted like a friend, even if he wasn’t always a nice one, but there was that undercurrent to their dynamic. Martin sighed; he _did_ envy the Other Martin the simplicity of being a switch. Yes, there were those who didn’t think switches were real or were sluts or other unkind things, but it must be nice to be able to stand up to a Dom without that underlying need to submit.

But on the other hand, if he was a switch - if he wasn’t a sub and didn’t have Douglas - wouldn’t he be even more alone? Hardly anyone had been interested in him as a sub and he couldn’t imagine that it would be much different if he was a switch. He’d never be able to play the dominant part, to ask a sub out - he couldn’t even successfully ask someone to go out on a non-dynamic date! And he liked the feeling he got when Douglas was pampering him, how safe and content he felt. There was something about the idea of surrendering everything to Douglas, knowing that he would be cared for, that was satisfying to the core of him. Only that was the niggle of doubt: Douglas had yet to take him fully, to tie him up or penetrate him or send him into subspace. Wasn’t that something that all Doms wanted? Douglas certainly _seemed_ the type who would want everything from his subs, and the fact that he didn’t want that from Martin….

He sighed and turned his attention back to the forms, signing his name and setting them in Carolyn’s box, then grabbed his van keys from his pigeonhole. As he climbed into his van, he had the sudden urge to drive over to Douglas’s house, to offer his submission for the night and just forget about the rest of the world. But it was a silly thought. He had a van job early in the morning and he needed to get back to his room to get some sleep. Besides, Douglas hadn’t invited him over.

Martin started the van and slowly drove home.

* * *

The Welcome video was brilliant, Martin thought, even though - no - _especially_ because he hadn’t had to do it. He’d _wanted_ to, or rather, he’d thought that as the captain he _should_ want to do it, but it was another of those things where not getting it was actually a relief. Douglas was brilliant and reassuring in the first part, everything their passengers would want to see in their airline.

And then, best of all, the rest of the MJN crew had their revenge in how utterly _ridiculous_ and just plain silly “Dougie” looked doing the Safety part. Martin was still chuckling about that as he followed Douglas into his house, pausing inside to toe off his shoes and set down his bag.

Before he could move further, however, he found himself tumbled onto the sofa. Douglas’s body held him captive, and he stared down into Martin’s face with an expression that was hard for him to decipher.

“You wouldn’t, by any chance, be laughing at _me_?” Douglas asked.

The question brought back the image of Douglas, clad in an inflated life vest and blowing on a whistle, and Martin couldn’t help grinning. “Yes?” he managed to say before another giggle broke out.

“Bad idea,” Douglas said. “And bad little subs need to be taught a lesson.”

“I’m not little!” Martin protested. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m average sized!”

“Not even close to the point, Martin,” Douglas said, then kissed him.

Despite Douglas’s words, the kisses were not any sort of “lesson” that Martin could discern, unless it was one designed to reveal just how easily Douglas could reduce him to a quivering mess of need and want. Douglas kissed like he did everything else, with an easy skill that seemed innate, and Martin was helpless in the face of such obvious talent. The feeling of Douglas's larger body pressing him down into the sofa made him feel safe and reassured, and Martin felt his body relax in a way that he'd never _ever_ felt before now.

"Ah," Douglas said, pulling back out of the kiss and looking down at Martin enigmatically. 

Before, Martin would have felt uncomfortable being the subject of such scrutiny and he would have pulled Douglas back down into another kiss. But now there was no need. Douglas would kiss him again if he wanted to, or he would do something else, and it was out of Martin's hands. And for once he was content to let someone else have the controls.

"And there we have it," Douglas said, sounding satisfied and self-congratulatory. "No more thinking, no more self-doubts, just pure submission. Hands above your head, Martin, and keep them there."

Martin wriggled a little to release his arms from where they were pinned by Douglas's body, stretching them over his head and grasping the arm of the couch. It felt delicious to be laid out like this and he hummed in contentment. 

"Very good, Martin," Douglas said, his voice nearly a purr. “It occurs to me that it’s long past time for me to claim you entirely as mine. Are you ready for that?”

And that sounded perfect and just what Martin had wanted for so, so long. He made another little hum of assent and relaxed even more, closing his eyes and feeling nearly boneless. 

Douglas's fingers slid slowly down his front, slipping each button out of its hole. "Martin, before I take you to bed and take you completely apart, I need to know something."

"Hmm?"

"How many Doms have you been with?"

Martin stirred and frowned, blinking his eyes open. Douglas leaned down and kissed him and Martin tried to relax again. "Not many," he said evasively. If Douglas knew how pathetically few Doms had been interested in him, would it make him realize how horrible a sub Martin was?

"All right. Say your former Doms were a sports team - what sport would they be?" 

Douglas's lips traveled down the pathway he'd just opened and Martin's pulse kicked up. "Um, how many on a bobsled?"

"Four."

"Oh. Um, any sports with three on a team?" Martin asked weakly. "I - I can't think of any - "

"Martin, it's not a test; I just wanted an idea of how experienced you were."

"S-sorry."

"Never mind, then," Douglas said, slipping his belt open and then his fly. "You're thinking again and we don't want that. Let's see if I can make you beg instead."

And he _could_. By the time Douglas stood up and pulled Martin off the sofa with him, Martin was ready to beg for Douglas to do _anything_ , as long as he could come at the end of it. And it turned out that Douglas really liked it when Martin begged. So much so that, when he finally had Martin naked in his bed, with his hands cuffed above his head, he took his time in bringing Martin to orgasm for the first time. Then he started all over again. Martin was nearly insensate from the pleasure he was feeling, and so relaxed that when Douglas _finally_ penetrated him it was painless. And when he came, with the feeling of Douglas surrounding and filling him, it was so nearly perfect that Martin tumbled right into oblivion.

Afterwards, when he was resting in Douglas's arms, Martin said sleepily, "So go ahead and tell me: if everyone who subbed for _you_ in the past was a team, what would it be?"

Douglas's fingers carded through his hair. "Well, you know the start of the London marathon?" he said, teasingly.

Martin rolled his eyes. "Forget I asked." He tilted his head up and Douglas kissed him again and again, until his toes were tingling.

"Martin," Douglas said, once Martin's head was resting on Douglas's chest again, "did your count include me?"

"No." Martin's eyes widened and he beamed up at Douglas. "Oh! That means - "

"Yes, Martin," Douglas said warmly. "You now have a bobsled team!"


	8. S is for Sensation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missed day! Turned out to be a crazy-busy one in my RL!

“Post take-off checks complete,” Martin said as they departed St. Petersburg. Seeing three hours stretching ahead of them, Douglas started a rhyming game although it couldn’t be said that Martin was fully into it. His mind was clearly focused elsewhere, and for once Douglas had no idea what he was thinking. In fact, though, Martin been quiet and introspective ever since a few days after that Rotterdam trip in late January - not that Douglas had had much time to delve into the issue as they’d been very busy. They hadn’t even had more than a few nights together since Douglas had bedded him that first time.

Suddenly a warning alarm went off, indicating a fire in number 2 engine. They immediately jumped into the emergency task-list and Martin signaled the tower for landing instructions.

“Fire is out, Captain,” Douglas said, glancing over at Martin. “Martin, do you want _me_ to land it?”

To his surprise, Martin said, “No, I’ll do it,” and he actually looked as if he _could_ instead of falling to pieces. Douglas watched the dials and Martin both, ready to step in if needed, but he actually brought the plane down in one of the best landings Douglas had ever seen him perform, despite the cross-wind. The firetruck raced out to meet them, and after making sure the fire was out, Douglas sent Martin and Arthur off for coffee while he accompanied Carolyn to inspect the damage.

It was as bad as he feared. The engine was a total loss and it looked like the end of MJN Air. Despite Arthur’s faith in his skills, Douglas couldn’t see any way out of the situation. Carolyn would have to sell the plane, and to her ex-husband, who still seemed keen to own his old jet.

Arthur was frantic, set into action by the imminent arrival of his father. Martin was quiet and subdued - understandable given that he was about to lose the only piloting job he’d ever been offered. And as Douglas was staring at an uncertain future himself, he could empathize.

Gordon Shappey turned out to be as thoroughly unpleasant as Carolyn had said he was, surprising as Douglas had assumed that her bitterness was the result of a contentious collar-breaking. In fact, Gordon’s attitude made something in Douglas _twitch_. Which is why he turned the taxi around and returned to the airport, catching Gordon in the process of stealing the airplane. And after that, the future of MJN was a little less precarious, and it was with high spirits that Douglas took the first leg of the trip home.

Martin was still quiet, though, and Douglas wondered whether their near-brush with unemployment was weighing on him. It had been nearly four months since the Birling Day trip and the funds from Martin’s half of the cuff-link sale must have been nearing exhaustion. He’d had a lot of van jobs in January but they seemed to have petered out. With that in mind, Douglas invited Martin to come over to his house the next day for an overnight - at least he could feed the young man up.

Martin didn’t respond right away, staring out the cockpit window as if looking for the answer to some Universal Question out there. “Douglas,” he said at last. “If MJN does fold...”

“I understand from Carolyn that it’s more a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’.”

“ _If_ it folds,” Martin persisted. “What will happen to us?”

“What do you mean? I expect we’ll have to find jobs elsewhere - ”

“No, I mean us. The - the collar.”

“Oh.” Douglas frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it much.”

“No, I didn’t suppose that you had,” Martin muttered.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not important to me,” Douglas said sharply. “It’s more that - well, it’s not a pleasant thing to think about. I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I rather thought that you did, too.”

“I did,” Martin said. “Do.”

Douglas sighed. “Martin, I’m nearly at the age where I won’t be allowed to fly without a younger pilot in the cockpit, and less than ten years from mandatory retirement. It is highly unlikely that another airline will want to hire me on. _When_ MJN folds, I expect I’ll be put out to pasture. And given the dearth of piloting jobs in the general area, you will no doubt have to move elsewhere. It’s a fact of life but I don’t have to like it. I’ll miss you like hell when you’re gone.”

Martin gave him a startled look. “Really? You’ll miss _me_?”

“Of course I will. Do you think that I keep holding your collar because I like bossing you around away from the airfield?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fair cop. I _do_ like bossing you around, but that’s not the only reason. I enjoy your company, Martin. I - well, I like you.”

Martin gave him a sideways look, his cheeks going pink the way that they did when he was either embarrassed or pleased. “I like you too, Douglas. Could I - ” He paused and licked his lips, a sign to Douglas that he was nervous, but then he boldly continued to say, “Could I come over for the whole weekend? Not just tomorrow night?”

Douglas smiled broadly. He would have liked to reach out and take Martin’s hand or, even bolder, to kiss it, but they were on the flight deck. Words would have to do instead - and fortunately, he was very good with words. “Martin, I would like nothing better.”

* * *

They were both too exhausted to make much of the night of their return, as neither of them had gotten much beyond the required hours of sleep in St. Petersburg, and that in shifts on GERTI to prevent it from going walk-about again. Douglas hustled them both into a quick shower, made just a little bit longer by blowing Martin on the counter afterwards. Martin dropped off to sleep nearly before his head hit the pillow and Douglas wasn't long after him. 

Old habits die hard, though, and Douglas was awake for at least an hour before Martin stirred. That time was not wasted, however, and after returning from the bathroom he spent the next hour studying his sleeping sub and thinking. It was curious how well Martin did with the landing, given the lost engine and the weather conditions. Douglas had no doubt that Martin knew GERTI even better than he did, from a technical point-of-view. Those painful "beat the flight manual" games proved that Martin had memorized her manuals, and he seemed to spend many of his off hours playing simulation games. Martin's problem was that he overthought things, that he didn't trust his instincts - so much so that Douglas had thought he just didn't have any. (And Martin probably believed that as well.) But at St. Petersburg, there hadn't been time to think or second guess, and instead of going with his other usual reaction - that of making a rash decision - he'd just landed her following the standard procedures. Procedures that he knew cold, probably better than he knew his own name. And for all that they teased him for his by-the-book attitude, it had saved their lives on that day. 

If Martin could just trust that he knew what he was doing the rest of the time he was in the air, he'd make a decent pilot. So how on earth was Douglas to reinforce Martin's confidence regarding his knowledge of GERTI without making Martin even more hide-bound in the process? It wasn't like he could simulate another air disaster (or would want to), and there wasn't anything else that Martin was confident about on the ground.

But maybe he could use Martin's own flight-deck game for other purposes. 

Martin stirred as he started to wake up and Douglas turned his attention to their usual routine for the morning-after. Today, however, there was a change in that Martin didn't leave after breakfast and would be spending a second night. They dropped off their uniforms for cleaning, ran a few of Douglas's little errands, and then ate a late lunch out. As they were heading back to Douglas's house, he made a detour out to the airfield and pulled up next to the portacabin. 

Martin gave him a questioning look. "Douglas?"

"Martin, you keep a copy of the flight manual on your desk, don't you? Would you fetch it, please?"

Martin frowned a little at that but got out of the car, shivering a little in the February chill. (Douglas made a mental note to see about a thicker coat for the sub at the next opportunity.) He returned quickly with the thick manual in his arms, clearing curious about why Douglas wanted it, but he wasn't going to yield to Martin's curiosity yet.

As they entered the house, Douglas took the manual from Martin. "Upstairs you go. Strip and wait for me on the bed."

Martin gave one last look at the manual, then hurried upstairs to do as ordered. Douglas locked up and did a few little housekeeping things, both to give Martin time and to ramp up his curiosity, and then he made his way upstairs. He set the manual on the end of the bed and then turned to the cabinet where he kept his more unusual belongings. A mask joined the manual, and the softest pair of wrist-cuffs he owned, and then a long feather, a silk scarf, and a piece of fine sandpaper were added. Martin eyed the growing pile but one of their early sessions had taught him the folly of questioning Douglas. 

When he'd collected his tools, Douglas stripped down to his vest and briefs, wanting to be comfortable but not concerned about whether or not he got off. 

"All right, Martin, before we get started, any problem with me putting a blindfold on you? You'll be in cuffs as well."

Martin shook his head and then added, "You won't leave me alone during?"

"Never for a moment, and if I move about I'll keep a hand on you so you know where I am."

Martin nodded agreement at that. Within a few minutes, Douglas had him handcuffed to the bedframe and blind-folded, with a cock-ring fastened around his half-hard dick so that he wouldn't come until Douglas allowed it.

"Now pet, we're going to play a little game and I think you're going to like this because it's a variation of 'beat the manual'. I'm going to ask you a question based on the manual and if you get it right, then you get a reward. You get them all right and you get to come at the end of this."

Martin smiled at that, a little smugly.

"There's only one catch. I'm going to be touching you while I'm asking the questions, in a number of different ways."

"But that's not fair!" Martin protested.

"I didn't say that it was a _fair_ game."

Martin groaned and Douglas said, "Now Martin, you know the manual backwards and forwards, right?"

"I memorized it," he muttered.

"I thought as much. So all you have to do is concentrate and you'll win. And you _like_ to win, don't you, Martin?"

Martin nodded jerkily.

"Good. So let's start."

The first few rounds went well for Martin, as Douglas kept his touches largely impersonal, such as stroking up and down on Martin's arm and across his chest. And of course Martin knew the answers to the questions from the manual, just as Douglas had thought. So then he started getting inventive. Flicks to Martin's nipples with first the soft end of the feather followed by little scratches with the sharper end and then back to the feather. Sandpaper to the inside of an elbow and then the tenderness eased by warm licks. Rough and then smooth, sharp and then soft, until Martin was quivering and his cock was leaking despite the ring. But he continued to get the answers right, even though Douglas had to ask a couple of them more than once.

And then Douglas wrapped the silk scarf around his cock and began jerking him slowly. "Last question, Martin. Get this one correct and I'll let you come. What increase in landing distance is required for a flap-thirty landing with auto spoilers inoperable?" 

Martin opened his mouth to answer and Douglas sped up his hand, just to add another degree of intensity; Martin caught his breath on a gasp and then whined.

"Concentrate, Martin," Douglas said. "You're about to win - don't you want that?"

Martin bit his lip, no doubt hoping that the slight pain would help him focus, but Douglas reached out to pull his lip free. "None of that, my pet. I want those lips soft and supple when you go down on me after this."

Martin whined again and swallowed, then said, "Seven - seven hundred and thirty feet."

"Correct!"

Douglas flicked the catch on the cock ring to release it, tossed away the scarf, and put his mouth over Martin's cock. He didn't even need to apply much suction as Martin immediately began convulsing with his release. 

When Martin had collapsed into a spent puddle, Douglas quickly cleaned him up and then unclipped the handcuffs. He turned off the bedside lamp so that Martin wouldn't be startled by the brightness when he took off the blindfold, then he crawled into bed beside the younger man. Martin turned towards him and Douglas opened his arms, inviting him to rest on his chest.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"Brilliant," Martin mumbled.

"Martin, I'll have to ask you not to sound like Arthur when you're in bed with me, or I might send you to sleep on the floor."

Martin made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a snort and settled in closer. Douglas could tell that he was seconds away from sleep and ruefully informed his half-hard cock that it would have to wait its turn. He wasn't sure if the scene had boosted Martin's self-confidence at all; time alone would tell.


	9. H is for Headspace

It would bloody well figure, Martin thought to himself. Just when everything was going so well, it would all go to pieces. 

In the two months since St. Petersburg, his relationship with Douglas had shifted into something more regular and satisfying. Instead of the odd night between flights, Martin was often at Douglas's house even if it was only for a shared meal. The feeling of a collar around his neck had stopped being something that caught him by surprise but instead felt as if it had always been there. And flying had taken on a new joy, the friendly teasing of their games without the undercurrent of resentment from Douglas. Martin still believed in the importance of procedures and by-the-book flying, but he had relaxed _just_ enough to appreciate Douglas's input as being from valuable experience and not to score points off of Martin. 

And then his mum had collapsed and been ordered to rest, but of course she was unwilling to accept that she needed any help and so was an active hindrance. And there was no assistance from his siblings, with Cait being superior about her job and her partner, and Simon being…well, Simon. Between looking after his mother, flying, and his van job, he had seen very little of Douglas on a personal level in the past week. Not to mention getting very little sleep. Thank God for Carolyn’s offer of Arthur to look after Mum! At least that had allowed him to get some rest, and that propelled him to finally confess about the van business to his mother when he dropped in to see how Arthur was getting on.

Mum seemed very pleased about the van business. “You know your father wanted you in particular to have the van. Simon wanted it but your father said no, he’d lose interest in it in a month and forget to have it serviced. No, best give it to Martin.”

Martin made a face. “Because I’m a sub and need a real job.”

“No, because you’re a dreamer. Caitlin isn’t - she’s practical and she will always land on her feet. And Simon makes the world his way. But you, he said, dream of big things and trust the world too easily. You needed something so you could support yourself, and you have! He’d be ever so proud!”

Martin doubted that but before he could say anything else, Simon swept in and, in his usual fashion, bullied them all into doing what he wanted. Mum was all “whatever Simon thinks best”, as if he’d been there all this time instead of Martin! And then, most humiliating of all, Simon had done that airplane thing, right in front of Arthur! And then he’d said that maybe Martin should give up flying and move in with Mum to take care of her, as if Martin’s life was unimportant.

Douglas had been irritated when Martin put him off for yet another weekend. “Can’t your brother take a turn at it?”

“He says his job is too important for him to be away, although he manages to take holidays just fine,” Martin said bitterly. “And Mum agrees with him.”

“Can’t you just stand up to him?”

“I try, but he just steamrollers over me, with his voice and Dom-ishness and his mustache - ”

“With his mustache?”

“It’s hard to argue with someone with a mustache that bushy,” Martin sighed.

“I reckon that I could have a crack at it,” Douglas said.

“I’m sure you could,” Martin agreed. “You or Carolyn. But I’m not either of you, I’m just…me.”

“True,” Douglas said and _oh, thanks a lot Douglas for that vote of confidence_! “But you _know_ me and Carolyn.”

“So?”

“Well we’re driving to Stansted on Sunday, aren’t we? Perhaps we ought to call on your mother on the way. All of us. In our _uniforms_.”

Martin stared at Douglas in disbelief for a moment and then a smile took over his face. His family had never seen him in his uniform, and Simon would be there on Sunday along with Caitlin. “Oh yes! Fantastic!”

* * *

It didn’t start out fantastic. First Caitlin sabotaged him with his hat, then Simon insisted on picking him up and flying him, just as Douglas was coming into the house. Martin felt utterly humiliated although, judging by the set look on Douglas’s face, he wasn’t best pleased to see his sub being man-handled by another Dom, even if it was family. And just when Martin was certain that Douglas was going to let Simon have it, Douglas and Carolyn were playing that stupid, stupid game of theirs!

But then, just when Martin was about to give up the whole thing as a bloody lost cause and move to New Zealand or something, they agreed to pause the game and stepped up to the plate.

“So, Simon,” Douglas said genially as they all returned to the main room. “I didn’t introduce myself properly before. I’m Douglas Richardson, Martin’s First Officer and second in command.”

Simon frowned. “Aren’t you his Dom? Isn’t that was Mummo was telling me?”

“On the ground,” Douglas said, and the glint in his eyes made Martin feel hopeful that he would finally put Simon in his place. “In the air, it’s _Martin_ who’s in charge.”

“I must say that you look more my idea of a pilot than old Martin here,” Simon said, giving Martin the look that said noogies were to follow.

“Really? You look _exactly_ my idea of a council administrator.”

Simon puffed up at that and Martin rolled his eyes at his obliviousness. “Senior administrator!”

“Really?” Douglas said. “Gosh!”

“The sights you must have seen!” Carolyn chimed in, turning her shark-like smile on Simon.

Something seemed to have pierced the thick shell of self-satisfaction because Simon paled a little and took a step back. “Yes...I...Well, I - I could tell you a few stories...but mustn’t talk shop!”

“Oh, but it would be such a treat for us,” Carolyn purred. “We’ve been dying to hear more, ever since Martin told us _all about you_ as we were flying over Monte Carlo.”

“ _Was_ it Monte Carlo, Carolyn?” Douglas said, frowning a little in thought. “I think it might have been Uganda.”

“Oh, yes! When we took those nice cameramen to see the mountain gorillas!”

“Sorry,” Douglas said to Martin’s family with his trademark smile. Martin could almost see their eyes glaze over at the beauty of that smile. “The trips do rather blur into one after a bit.”

“Well, except for the ones like St. Petersburg where we had a bird strike on take-off, and Martin landed us on one engine,” Carolyn pointed out.

“Martin!” his Mum said, turning wide eyes to him. “Did you really?”

“Oh, he was brilliant!” Arthur chimed in, having gotten a bit lost in the previous conversation since he didn’t think they’d been to Uganda. Or Monte Carlo, for that matter.

Martin blushed at the looks he was getting from his family, although Cait’s and Simon’s were mixed with disbelief. “You know, just part of the job.”

“Well, it’s _my_ job, too,” Douglas said, “but I went to pieces.”

“Started crying like a schoolgirl,” Carolyn put in, a little spitefully.

Douglas glared at her but continued, saying, “But Martin told me not to be a damned fool, and he landed the plane single-handed, fighting the crosswind all the way down to the icy runway and saving all our lives.”

“That’s amazing!” Caitlin said, finally looking like she believed what they were saying. The look she gave Martin was definitely impressed, and he couldn't help preening just a bit.

“But I’m sorry,” Douglas said, turning to Simon. “You were going to tell us _your_ story.”

Simon looked like he'd been caught flat-footed. “Yes, well,” he stammered. “I would but best not! Official secrets act, you know!”

Carolyn’s smile widened, enough to devour a _sea_ of fellow sharks. “Oh, of _course_.”

The visit ended soon after that, with the excuse that they had to get on the road. Simon was particularly eager to see them get on the road, especially after Douglas pulled him aside for a private word about keeping his hands off of Martin that made Simon go very pale. And both Caitlin and Simon agreed that _of course_ Martin was very busy and they could both pitch in more with Mum.

“I don’t think your father would need to worry about you any more,” Wendy said as Martin kissed her good-bye.

He gave her a questioning look. “Mum?”

She patted his cheek. “Douglas is a fine man, and I know he’ll take care of you. Just don’t let him do that Simon again; once was enough.”

She smiled at him and shut the door, and Martin slowly followed the others to the car. Guilt was a familiar friend and it began to overtake the satisfaction at having finally gotten the best of Simon. 

“Were we too rough on Simon?” he worried as they climbed into the car.

“Good lord, no!” Douglas said reassuringly as he held open the back door for Martin to get in. “But speaking of rough,” he added quietly, just for Martin’s ears as his fingers brushed over Martin’s cuff, “I believe that you’ll be free to come over to my place tonight?” Martin nodded. “Good. I’m feeding you up and then taking you to bed, and I don’t intend to let you out of it for at least a day.”

And that sounded just bloody perfect.


	10. P is for Princess - and Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you will have noted, I have rearranged the episodes a little to tighten up the timeline. Also, we don't have a clear idea of when a lot of the episodes take place, a few have date/event markers. "St. Petersburg" is stated as in February but not the year. "Vaduz" is stated as occurring at the start of one of the school terms and also when Herc and Carolyn have "been in the same place together" for over a year, which would probably put it at the start of January the year following St. Petersburg. However, I didn't want to stretch Douglas and Martin's relationship arc over too long of a timespan and 2 years felt unreasonable. So I decided to place Vaduz in August at the start of the Fall term for the King which also made sense for a vacation trip for Herc and Carolyn. It is then 4 months since "Headspace", 6 months since "Sensations", and 10 months since Martin was Collared.
> 
> *BDSM warning - this chapter contains some mild disciplinary spanking, but also intended to be erotic. Don't read if that bothers or triggers you.

They had just entered Douglas’s house when he suddenly pushed Martin up against the wall.

“What in Hell was all that about?” he growled at Martin.

Martin blinked at Douglas, unable to form any sort of coherent reply. It wasn’t _just_ that he didn’t know what Douglas was upset about. It was more that he was overwhelmed by the sheer physicality of the Dom’s presence. Douglas was pressed up against him, pinning him so that he couldn’t move, and he was glaring at him sternly. Martin was embarrassingly aware that he was starting to get hard from that combination.

“D-douglas? I - I don’t - ”

Douglas growled again, his fists tightening on the lapels of Martin’s jacket. “She was flirting with you! And _you_ were _flirting back_!”

Martin gaped. No one had ever flirted with him - well, not that he’d noticed. “ The princess?”

Douglas’s glare intensified and Martin was glad that he was being pressed against the wall because his knees went weak. “Of course the bloody princess!”

“She was just being - ” Martin paused. He meant to say “nice” but Therese hadn’t been exactly nice, had she? Teasing and arch, not cruel but deliberately making him fumble for words. Surely that wasn’t flirting? It hadn’t felt romantic, more like how Douglas made him feel when he was in a good mood and teasing and - oh _God_! She _had_ been flirting. “Oh,” he said weakly.

“Oh, indeed.” Dougls thumped him against the wall, not hard but as if to focus his attention on the Dom. “How do you think that made me feel? Holding your Collar and all, and you practically begging her for it?”

Martin felt himself flush with embarrassment. “I’m so so sorry, Douglas. I didn’t realize… I’m sorry.”

Douglas seemed to deflate at that, his hands loosening on Martin. “No, I don’t suppose you did,” he sighed and started to release him. “Look, you'd better go on home. I’m not going to be pleasant company tonight.”

Martin’s heart plummeted into his shoes. He didn’t want to go back to his rooms. The students would still be gone for the summer, and the house was too big and empty with just him there. Douglas’s house was always warm and, well, full of _Douglas_ , filling up all the cold and empty bits of Martin. That’s what he wanted, no, _needed_ right now. He needed Douglas to continue pressing him against the wall or the bed, or pushing him to his knees. He needed to be _owned_.

“You don’t need to be,” he said boldly and then, as Douglas gave him a puzzled look, he added, “Pleasant company.”

“Martin - ”

“I belong to you,” Martin added stubbornly, raising his chin a little. He might not be as good a pilot as Douglas, as good at _anything_ as Douglas, but he could definitely out-stubborn him. “M-maybe you should remind me of that.”

Douglas narrowed his eyes and Martin felt a thrill of victory run through him. “Martin, are you trying to _manage_ me? Because _that_ would be a big mistake.”

Martin swallowed. “N-no,” he said, then added honestly, “I don’t think I could. But… _You’re_ my Dom, aren’t you?”

“Too right.”

Douglas let go of him but Martin’s protest turned into a squeak when Douglas turned him and landed a solid smack on his arse. “Upstairs and strip, and be quick about it,” he ordered. “And remember - you brought this on yourself.”

Martin scurried up the stairs and into the guest room, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he moved. Quickly but carefully he hung up his uniform, kicked off his shoes, and then piled his shirt and underpants on the chair. He briefly debated whether he should jump in the shower to wash off the day’s sweat but Douglas hadn’t said anything about that. And he was in enough trouble at the moment without adding more to the mix. His pulse quickened at that thought, equal parts dread and anticipation, and he was almost tempted to up the ante, just to see what happened. But then again, Martin had never been good at gambling and it would possibly blow up in his face. Douglas might decide that he was more trouble than he was worth and take away his collar.

Now nearly trembling with nerves, he hurried into Douglas’s bedroom and went to his knees beside the bed, facing the door. Then he worried that he was being too presumptive - would Douglas prefer to _order_ him to knees? He hesitated, torn and indecisive, but then heard Douglas’s footsteps on the stairs and decided to remain where he was. He bowed his head and folded his hands in his lap and waited.

“So you can be obedient - when it suits you,” Douglas said as he came to a stop in front of Martin. He couldn’t see his Dom’s face, just the toes of his shiny (and no doubt expensive) shoes, but Douglas seemed to approve of his choice and that helped settle the butterflies in Martin’s stomach. “You just need a reminder to behave even when it doesn’t strike your fancy.”

Martin felt Douglas’s fingers on his chin, tilting his face up towards him, and Martin lifted his eyes to meet the Dom’s. Whatever he was looking for in Martin’s face seemed to satisfy him because Douglas released his chin and settled on the bed, then tapped his knees.

“Over my lap, Martin.”

Martin hurried to obey, trying to be graceful as he settled over the Dom’s knees and certain that he was anything but. Douglas helped guide him into position; Martin flushed as he pictured how ridiculous he must look, lying across another man’s lap with his arse raised and his toes just barely touching the ground. His body didn’t seem to be on the same page as his mind, however, as his cock stiffened to half-hard - not that it made any difference as he was positioned so that his cock hung between Douglas’s knees with no friction whatsoever.

“Have you ever been spanked, Martin?” Douglas asked, his hand settling on Martin’s thighs as he made a minute adjustment to the sub’s position.

Martin jumped slightly at the touch and Douglas’s hand stroked soothingly over his skin, settling him in place. Under the petting strokes he relaxed, then realized that he hadn’t replied to the Dom. “N-no,” he stammered. “Well, just as a kid, once or twice, I think.”

“Hmm.”

Martin flushed and cursed himself - how ridiculous was it that a thirty-something sub had never even been spanked by a Dom? It would just show Douglas how unworthy Martin was to wear his collar - he should have made something up, said something about being a teen and the usual sort of exploratory stuff teen subs did, only Martin never had. And then he would have lied to his Dom and Martin _never_ wanted to lie to Douglas.

There was a sharp slap across his exposed arse, enough to make him jump. Was the spanking starting? Wasn’t Douglas supposed to give him instructions about speaking or moving during this? Or was that only in those trashy romances? 

“Martin, stop thinking! I can almost hear your thoughts out loud. And no, it wouldn’t have been better to lie to me.”

“Sorry, Douglas.”

“Right. So this is both punishment for flirting with another Dom - even if you didn’t realize you were doing it - and a warning not to do it again. And it’s a reminder that you wear my collar and belong to _me_. There’s no set number of strokes, I won’t be asking you to count them or anything like that. Feel free to shout or cry or beg if you want, it won’t make a difference one bit. _I_ will decide when this is over.”

“Yes, Douglas.”

The first dozen smacks landed, sharp and crisp, with no discernible pattern and Martin’s first thoughts were _finally_ and _I can handle this_. As promised, there was no sense of a number being counted out, no sum tallied up. And then Martin was aware of a vague inner sense of dissatisfaction, of _not enough_ , of an _itch_ under the skin that wanted scratching but wasn’t _quite_ being touched. He couldn’t help wriggling a little, trying to soothe that itch, and was rewarded by a sudden sharp _crack!_ as Douglas’s hand landed a single, harder blow.

“Stop trying to manage this, Martin,” his Dom ordered, his voice as sharp as that smack had been.

And just like that, Martin could feel himself go limp and loose and compliant. It no longer mattered that he was lying across another man’s lap, being smacked like an naughty child. There was no dignity to lose because it wasn’t his to start. Everything was his Dom’s: his pain, his need, his pleasure, _all_ of it. All he had to do was just to be there, in the moment, and to let it happen. He wasn’t aware when tears start rolling down his cheeks nor when he began pushing up slightly to meet each swat. He was no longer aware of time or place or _being_ , and when a wave of intense pleasure suddenly overtook him, it was so unexpected and surprising that he blacked out.

When he next opened his eyes, he realized that he was under the covers and curled up tight at Douglas’s side. His bottom tingled and his nerve ends felt like they’d been dipped in fizzy lemonade. He would have liked to speak, to thank Douglas or perhaps protest that this was not _quite_ a punishment but he seemed to have forgotten how to move his lips or make a sound.

A hand brushed over his head and a voice said, firmly but kindly, “Hush, Martin. Go to sleep.” 

So maybe he did make some sort of sound. It didn’t really matter though, and as he obeyed the command he was aware of only the warmth and security of the embrace, the soft susurration of pages in a book being turned, and gentle fingers brushing through his hair.


	11. O is for Ownership

Martin was late.

Martin was _never_ late. _Especially_ when they had a flight. Martin probably had a backup alarm set just in case his usual alarm didn’t go off. The only time he’d ever been late to _anything_ was when that blasted van of his broke down, but it was clearly sitting in front of the house that Martin shared with students. Over the past year since Douglas had Collared him, when Douglas arrived to pick him up Martin was always waiting on the front steps for him, no matter the weather.

Douglas drummed his fingers on his steering wheel as he stared at the empty stairs. Maybe he was sick? Martin had gotten terribly drenched during that cursed expedition in Kilkenny three days earlier, not to mention exposed to goose poop and whatever bacteria lived within it. He hadn’t seemed sick when he left Douglas’s house two days earlier but he’d had a number of van jobs during their off-days - maybe he’d overdone it?

He called Martin’s phone again but it went right to voice mail, which seemed ominous. There was nothing for it; Douglas was going to have to go in and see if Martin was all right.

Douglas got out of the car and locked it, then went up to the house and rang the doorbell. After a few minutes, a young woman answered the door.

“Hello, I’m looking for Martin Crieff,” he said and, at her blank look, added, “The pilot who lives in the attic?”

The confusion on her face cleared up. “Oh! Our ghost!” She opened the door wide and gestured for him to come in. “Up the stairs to the top, door on the left at the landing.”

Douglas climbed the three flights of stairs, coming out on a landing with two doors. One was marked “Storage” so he knocked on the other door. There was a muffled “yes?” which was hopeful, and yet it sounded as if the speaker was half-asleep, so maybe not good as well. He opened the door and found the room to be decent sized, although a bit cold as the October chill seeped in through whatever insulation the walls provided. It was a tidy room, although the furnishings were shabby and clearly second-hand. There was a mattress in one corner and on it a huddle of blankets.

“Martin? Are you unwell?”

Carolyn was going to be angry if that was the case, as their booking today required two pilots and an overnight stay. Although it would be her fault since she was the one who got Martin wet and bee-stung in Ireland.

The lump on the bed sat up, dislodging blankets. Martin blinked at him in confusion, then panic swept over his face. “Douglas! What are you doing in my room?”

“We have a flight today, in a little under two hours,” Douglas replied. “Did you forget?” That seemed unlikely. “Or are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine. Fine. I - My alarm didn’t go off but I’m - ” Martin yawned. “Fine.” He picked up his phone and made a face. “Dead. The fuse must have blown again.” He threw back the covers and grabbed his washbag and towel. “Give me a few minutes. Um, you can wait downstairs? There might be coffee…”

Martin scooted past him, out the door and down the stairs. Douglas looked around the room again, a frown on his face, then slowly made his way down to the ground floor.

They were quiet in the car, Martin trying to tame his unruly curls that he’d apparently dampened in the sink while Douglas dealt with an unexpectedly strong surge of protectiveness. He had been ignoring Martin’s circumstances over the past year, despite his natural inclination to coddle a sub under his protection. He'd been able to feed him up several times a week, not to mention the left-overs he pressed on the sub with the excuse that he never ate them himself. He’d occasionally lost bets over the cheese tray to Martin, though not enough to make him suspicious. And there was the latest Burling Day outing, oddly to Timbuktoo, which had nearly been a disaster until Martin (Martin!) had managed to con Carolyn into purchasing the whiskey for Birling. Splitting the money from her plus the tip from Birling had given Martin a little cushion for his finances.

But until now he hadn’t been faced with the actual circumstances of Martin living where he did, and the Dom side of him was putting up quite a fuss. His sub, living in an inadequately heated attic with substandard wiring? What if the place had caught fire - were there alarms or sensors? And although he hadn’t had more than a glance as Martin slipped past him, he was nearly certain that Martin had been wearing several layers of clothes to keep warm while he slept. Douglas shouldn’t allow that. What if Martin _had_ been sick - would any of his flatmates have noticed? His Dom side wanted to just march into Martin’s flat, pack up his things, and install the young sub in his own house where he could keep an eye on him, but he knew that such an approach would just put Martin’s back up.

“Martin,” he said, then cleared his throat as he tried to think of the best approach. “It’s been a year since you accepted my Collar…”

“Yes, Douglas?” Martin asked, giving him an anxious look. “Are you wanting it back?”

“Oh no! Far from that!” Douglas paused again, then decided to just forge ahead. “I was thinking that a change in living arrangements might be in order, that’s all.”

Martin scrunched up his forehead. “I don’t follow.”

“I’m asking you to move in with me,” Douglas said. “I’ve got all that extra space, and it would make things easier for us.”

Martin’s lips compressed. “It’s because of where I live, isn’t it?” he said flatly. “You’ve seen it and you don’t approve.”

“It isn’t like that at all!” Douglas protested. “I want to take care of you!”

“I don’t n-need taking care of,” Martin retorted.

“I really think that you do. And what’s the point of having a sub if they’re not to hand when you want them?”

Martin hesitated at that. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You wouldn’t be! Would I, Douglas Richardson, take on someone who I think will be a burden? Surely you know my selfish nature better than that!”

“You’re not selfish,” Martin said. “Well, not completely. You’ve been very good to me, made me very happy.”

“Then make _me_ happy by moving in with me,” Douglas said coaxingly. “It’ll be fun.”

Martin was quiet for a long moment, twisting his hands together. “I - I don’t want to h-hurt you, Douglas. But I n-need to pay my own way. And I c-can’t while I’m not getting a salary.”

“They say two can live as cheaply as one.”

“Please,” Martin said lowly. “Don’t insist on this.”

Douglas sighed. “All right. I won’t insist. But you will think about it, won’t you?”

Martin nodded and Douglas knew that was the best answer he was going to get at the moment. It didn’t mean that he liked it, or that he wouldn’t scheme to find a way to get what he wanted in the end.


	12. Z is for Zurich and Ze End!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialog is drawn from the show and is courtesy of https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/37526.html

Douglas entered the portocabin, announcing, “I’ve done the walk-around and no new bits have fallen off of GERTI - ”

“Shh!” both Martin and Arthur said, making hushing movements at him.

“Well, really!”

“Mum’s on the phone with Dad,” Arthur said, in as quiet a voice as he could manage.

“Ah,” said Douglas. “That time of year again, is it?”

Arthur nodded vigorously and Martin said, “We wanted to hear what he was going to offer for GERTI now, and if Carolyn is going to accept.”

Douglas raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, trying to hear more clearly. All that he could make out where murmurs, and then Carolyn said loudly, “I said I’ll think about it! That means _go away and leave me alone_! I’ll call back when I’ve decided.”

There was the slamming of the phone receiver and then Carolyn stormed out of her office to glare at them all.

“Well? What are you doing standing around staring like a bunch of baboons?” she demanded.

“Walk-around completed,” Douglas said. “Cargo had been loaded and is secure.”

“The flight plan to Zurich is filed,” Martin volunteered.

“GERTI’s all clean and - you’re not really going to sell her to Dad, are you?” Arthur asked anxiously.

Carolyn’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. If we don’t get more business…” She sighed. “I’ll be onboard checking out the drinks cupboard while we wait for our passenger.”

Once the door closed behind her, Douglas asked, “How much was the offer?”

“A quarter of a million pounds,” Martin said, a worried look on his face. “And he’ll take on all of MJN’s debts.”

“Do you think Mum will take it?” Arthur asked anxiously. “Dad will scrap her except for the tail!”

“Curious that he still wants GERTI,” Douglas said, frowning. “After St. Petersburg, he knows just what shape she’s in. Seems a lot of money to spend just to get back at his ex-wife-and-sub. Men like Gordon don’t do that.”

“Then why would he do that?” Martin asked.

“It must be because he knows she’s worth much, much more than that.”

“How could she be?” Arthur asked, then his face lit up. “Maybe he’s hidden something on GERTI!”

“What, that we haven’t found in all this time?” Martin asked.

“I don’t know, but it’s something to consider,” Douglas said. He looked around. “Who is our passenger, by the way?”

The door opened and Herc Shipwright walked in, looking as large as life and twice as smug. Arthur greeted him warmly, which told Douglas that Herc and Carolyn were still dating, or whatever Carolyn called it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked irritably.

“Didn’t Carolyn tell you?” Herc asked smoothly. “ _I’m_ your passenger today.”

“You?” Martin asked. “B-But you have your own planes!”

“Yes,” Douglas said suspiciously. “Why are you paying us to fly wherever you’re going when Air Caledonian will fly you for free?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Herc asked. “Swiss Air bought up Air Cal.”

“And Carolyn knows about this?” Martin asked.

“She does indeed, hence my flight with you today. You are transporting me and my worldly goods to my new home. I’m relocating to Switzerland - Zurich, in fact.”

Martin and Douglas exchanged looks while Arthur led Herc out to the waiting plane.

* * *

Once they were in the air, Martin asked, “You really think that GERTI’s valuable?”

“I’m sure of it now,” Douglas said.

“But if anything was hidden on it, we’d have found it long ago.”

“Not necessarily. It might be really tiny. Diamonds, for instance.”

Arthur entered the flight deck with their coffee. Martin took a sip from his, a frown on his face as he thought about Douglas’s statement.

“Hang on. When we were in St. Petersburg, his engineers had GERTI all to themselves for hours. If there was something small on board, they would have taken it then.”

“Ah,” Douglas said. “I actually hadn’t thought of that.”

“So it can’t have been anything small or he’d have taken it,” Martin said. “And it can’t be anything big or we’d have found it.”

“What if it’s something that’s so big that you can’t see it?” Arthur asked. “Like the Great Wall of China.”

Douglas said slowly, “The Great Wall of China.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, nodding vigorously. “You know, famously the Great Wall of China is _so_ big, you can only see it from space.”

“N-no, Arthur,” Martin said.

“What you’ve done there, Arthur,” Douglas said, “is you’ve taken a fact that’s famously wrong, and you’ve got it wrong.”

“Oh, right,” Arthur said, looking dejected.

“And yet, in doing so, you haven’t made it right. Impressive, even for you!”

“You mean you can’t see it from space?”

“No,” Martin said, “but you _can_ see it from the ground. It’s thousands of miles long.”

“Then why can’t you see it from space?”

“Because it’s only a few feet wide.”

Arthur looked puzzled by this but gave up on the Great Wall. “Ooh, I know. Maybe the fuel tank is full of fine wines!:

Douglas sighed and Martin said, “The fuel tank is full of _fuel_.”

“Oh.”

“As soon as we land in Fitton, we’ll search every inch of her,” Douglas said decisively. “It might take some time but we have several days before our next flight.”

“Unless Carolyn decides to sell her,” Martin said gloomily.

All three men sighed at that.

* * *

Once they’d landed in Zurich, Herc’s belongings were unloaded onto a waiting truck and Carolyn turned to the three men.

“I will be staying in Zurich for a few days,” she said. “Arthur, I don’t want you to talk to your father no matter what he tries to do or say, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mum,” Arthur said, looking relieved at the order. “Tiffy’s invited me to come watch her horse dressing - ”

“That’s dressage, dear.”

“ - so I’ll stay with her for a few days, if that’s all right.”

“Of course it is; just stay out of trouble and don’t drive my car!”

“Carolyn,” Martin said, with his usual bull-in-a-china-shop approach, “are you really thinking about selling GERTI?”

Carolyn sighed and looked over at where Herc Shipwright was signing off on the loading paperwork for his crates. “MJN is so far in the red that it would take a miracle to save her. And, well, Herc has asked me to marry him, to move here with him. I’m taking a few days to look around and then I’ll come to a decision.”

She looked at her two pilots and managed a bit of a smile. “We’ve had a longer run than anyone expected, even me. We can’t expect a fairy-tale ending, can we?”

They watched as Carolyn walked away with Herc and then Martin said, with determination, “Every _inch_ of GERTI.”

“I’ll start as soon as we’re on board!” Arthur said, excitedly. “It’s just like a treasure hunt!”

“Yes, Arthur,” Douglas said. “It’s exactly like a treasure hunt.”

* * *

By the end of the next day, even Arthur’s zest for the hunt was wearing thin. The three men collapsed into the cabin seats, frustrated by the lack of evidence that Gordon Shippey had hidden anything aboard.

 **“** Whatever it is, it’s definitely _not_ in the cabin,” Douglas said.

Martin sighed. **“** Well, I’ve checked the hold, the undercarriage, the wiring channels, the avionics bay, the tanks, the engines … Nothing.”

 **“** Well, it’s got to be _somewhere,”_ Douglas said with a sigh.

“Shall I fetch us some drinks?” Arthur asked after a few minutes, unable to just sit. “Only Tiffy’s picking me up in a little bit.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” Martin said, and Arthur climbed down out of the plane. “I really can’t think of anywhere else to look,” he said to Douglas.

Douglas sighed and rubbed his face. “Neither can I. It’s just got to be here, though. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

There was a shout from Arthur outside the plane and both men descended to see Gordon Shippey standing beside GERTI, a frustrated look on his face. Arthur was even more agitated than usual.

“There’s definitely something on GERTI!” Arthur shouted to them.

“Oh, hello, Gordon,” Douglas said genially, his senses on full alert in the presence of the other Dom. Something about the other man rubbed him the wrong way and he was determined to protect the two younger men. “Back for another attempt to steal GERTI?”

“He tried to get me to sell GERTI to him!” Arthur said, near hysterical. “He lied to me! He said terrapins tickle me and everything!”

That part was incomprehensible to Douglas but the first was clear enough. “ _Did_ you hide something on board?” he asked Gordon.

“No,” Gordon snapped. “ _I’m_ not a smuggler.”

“That’s true,” Douglas said. “So why else might you hide something? What was going on back then? You were getting divorced, of course … _Oh_. Or did you suspect you were _going_ to get divorced? Because if you _did_ , then suppose you could make your plane a lot more valuable than it looked? Then, come the divorce, you could let Carolyn take the house and the car and - _indeed_ – the son, so long as _you_ got the plane.”

Gordon scowled. “If I’d done that, even you clowns would have found it by now.”

 **“** Not if it was too small for us to find.”

 **“** Well, then I’d have taken it in St Petersburg.”

Douglas nodded. “Yes. So, it must be something that’s somehow big _and_ small at the same time. What’s big and small at the same time?” He thought for a second and then it hit him. “Of course!”

“Have you solved it?” Martin asked, looking hopeful.

“The wiring channels.” He turned to the plane, opening the hatch to access them.

Martin shook his head. “I told you, Douglas: I searched them. There’s nothing there.”

“Yes there is,” Douglas said. “There’s the Great Wall of China!”

Martin scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“Big and small at the same time. Very very long, but very very narrow. Just like these.”

Douglas wrenched out some of the wiring. He hoped he was right because if he was wrong, Carolyn was going to kill him for damaging her plane.

“Some wires?” Martin asked, puzzled.

“Not _some_ wires, Martin; _all_ the wires.” He looked over at Martin. “Think of all the wiring on GERTI. Every instrument, every light, every generator – all connected from nose to tail, from wing-tip to wing-tip with miles and miles of electrical wiring.”

“But the wires have to be copper.”

“No,” Douglas corrected him. “They have to conduct electricity. And what conducts electricity even better than copper but looks like _this_?” he asked as he stripped one of the wires.

Martin stared in open-mouthed awe as the core of the wire gleamed with a color that was definitely not copper. “Gold!”

“Oh, spit,” Gordon muttered.

“But - but Douglas,” Martin said, “gold’s much heavier than copper.”

“Indeed it is.”

“So if you replaced all the copper with gold, surely the aircraft would become sluggish. Unresponsive. I mean, just generally very difficult to fly…”

Martin trailed off and looked thunderstruck. “Oh my _God_!! All this time I thought I was a lousy pilot, but I was flying a notoriously hard plane which had been deliberately made harder to fly by …”

“…being partly made of gold!” Douglas finished.

The two men grinned at each other, delighted by this news and by their discovery. Then they turned to face Gordon Shappey.

“Mr. Shappey, you are trespassing,” Douglas said, and there was a gleam in his eye that said that he was enjoying this alot. “And unless you wish to spend a few days in jail for attempted coercion and theft, I suggest that you - ”

“Douglas, let me say it,” Arthur said, and if he was surprised by the sudden steel in the young man’s voice, Douglas was smart enough not to say so. Instead he just nodded.

Arthur turned to his father. “Dad, get off of Our Jet Now! And don’t _ever_ come back!”

* * *

Carolyn, when informed upon her return to Fitton that her plane was partly made of gold, bore the news with considerable aplomb. She authorized Douglas to supervise the removal of the wiring for evaluation of its worth and, when given the initial estimate, asked Martin to oversee the replacement of the wiring and other repairs to GERTI, and accepted Arthur's name change suggestion to OJN.

“Given these figures,” she continued, “it appears that I’ll be able to pay you an actual salary, Martin, of say - twenty thousand pounds a year?”

It was less than Douglas was making but he didn’t volunteer that information, not when the mentioned sum had made Martin nearly incoherent with joy. There was a time and a place to gloat and this wasn’t it.

“And I suppose we’ll need to look into an additional cabin crew member,” she said.

“Then you’re moving to Zurich, Carolyn? Making Herc an honest man at last?”

Carolyn hummed. “I expect that I’ll go back and forth between Fitton and Zurich - I _do_ own an airline, after all - but much of the management can be done remotely. I will need a local agent, to help with bookings and greeting the clients and such. Might you be interested in such a role with MJN, First Officer and General Manager Richardson?”

Douglas smiled, and it was nearly as sharky as Carolyn’s. “Anything for OJN,” he said magnanimously. “I’ll discuss the percentage of my ‘cut’ with you later.”

“Carolyn,” Martin broke in. “Might Douglas and I have a few days off while the work on GERTI is being evaluated by the engineers?”

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “You might. Could I inquire into the reasons for my pilots to be even lazier than usual?”

“I’ll need Douglas’s help to move my things from my flat to his house.” Martin turned and gave Douglas a somewhat nervous and totally hopeful look.

For the first time in a very long time, Douglas was struck completely speechless. After which, the only proper reply was to sweep Martin into his arms and kiss him senseless. 

"You might regret this," Douglas said as he pulled back just enough to look Martin in the face. "I can be extremely possessive and very demanding of my subs."

Martin smiled. "Good thing I'm planning to be very high maintenance then, isn't it?"

"Oh really, you two," Carolyn said in exasperation as Douglas pulled Martin in for another kiss. "Don't you have a home where you can go and do that sort of thing?" As Martin didn't seem able to reply and Douglas not inclined to release his sub any time soon, she sighed and turned to Arthur. "Come on, Arthur; let's go home. I have things to pack and candidates to line up for interviews."

“Mum, you know you said we couldn’t expect a fairy-tale ending?” Douglas heard Arthur say as he and Carolyn headed out to their car. “I think you were wrong.”

“Arthur, dear heart, don’t expect to ever hear this again, but yes, I was wrong. This is very much a fairy-tale ending, for everyone.”


End file.
